Though My Hands Are Hauling Ceaselessly
by EllieF
Summary: Alfons knows it'll never happen. [Movieverse, Ed x Hei, but pretty onesided]


**ObDisclaimer**: Arakawa-san's, of course, not mine.

**Notes**: Xposted from LJ, since given the way the winds seem to be blowing over there, I figured an extra backup couldn't possibly hurt. This started as a drabble. I find that very funny now. The poem the title comes from is "You Are At the Bottom of My Mind," by Iain Crichton Smith. Here's the relevant bit:

And you will never rise to the surface  
though my hands are hauling ceaselessly  
and I do not know your way at all,  
you in the half-light without sleep

I know they didn't really meet in Munich. By the time I double-checked, though, I really liked the setting and the way it was coming out, so I left it. Besides, I figure there are few enough details given canonically that I had a little leeway. Thanks to havocmangawip for kindly reading the first draft! (In case anyone cares, I am still chipping away at "Three Worlds"; this story just hijacked my brain for a bit.)

**Though My Hands Are Hauling Ceaselessly**

When Alfons was younger, he'd put on a tough front, having learned from experience that it was better to face bullies than simply outrun them. He'd always been smart, and as a child he was sickly, which made him a favourite target.

As he grew older and his friends started to talk about girls, while he, helplessly, daydreamed about his classmates, he worried that those bullies had seen something in him that he hadn't yet recognised in himself. He trained himself to fit in. It became easier as he got taller and stronger, and grew into the very picture of society's ideal. Going to university made things even better; he was no longer conspicuous as the smartest in his class. His disguise was very, very good. Eventually he stopped worrying that anyone would suspect him of being anything other than the boy he appeared to be.

One day in his second year, he walked into the library, and his world turned upside down.

He'd wanted to do some extra reading, but when he found the shelf where the books should've been, someone had beaten him to it. Every title he wanted was gone, and more besides, leaving vast stretches of shelf bare. Alfons huffed a disgusted sigh and looked around for the culprit.

He almost missed him.

The table at the end of the row, the only one in full sunlight (and the one Al preferred), was piled ridiculously high with books. They were eight and ten deep, like some crazy fortress, and, just visible over the top, he saw the rumpled blond hair of the book hoarder.

Alfons stalked towards him, quite annoyed now, already formulating the words to give the thief a piece of his mind.

Then he saw his face and stopped.

Just stopped; stunned, foolish, and completely unnoticed.

The shock that froze him on the spot wasn't because the book thief's eyes were gold, though that was arresting enough; and it wasn't surprise at how long his hair was, or how silvery in the slanting light. It wasn't even the sense of deja vu that struck Alfons like lightning.

It was the thrum and clangour that suddenly seemed to have taken over his heartbeat, so that his pulse pounded one word: _Mine._

He fled, certain his face all but glowed with humiliation.

Once he was safely out of the library, he had to laugh. Because it was joy that touched the edge of madness... and it was completely, stupidly hopeless at the same time, and if he didn't laugh, he'd scream.

_That's what they don't tell you about love at first sight_, he thought, with deliberate grim humour. _It actually feels like shit._

* * *

Alfons couldn't very well never go to the library, but he didn't want to be a nuisance. He just wanted to understand: why this young man, and no other? 

He'd sit close but not too close, with his own books spread out around him, hardly absorbing a word of his reading, stealing glances.

The book hoarder's name was Edward Elric, Al discovered, and he'd come here from England. He saw that Edward often slept in the library, slumped over a book as if reading until the very moment exhaustion claimed him.

He noticed that the margins of Edward's notebooks were filled with fantastically complicated doodles, like stained-glass rose windows with strange symbols. And he noticed that Edward could write with either hand, though slowly and stiffly with the right.

But Al never said anything. He didn't exist for Edward. Nothing did except the books. He studied like a man possessed, driven by God knew what. Drifts of paper accumulated around the stacks of books on his table. If Edward wasn't there, Alfons shooed away anyone who might disturb things. It seemed that was all he'd be able to do to help. He'd grown used to one-sided romances. Probably, Al thought, Edward wouldn't even know him if they passed on the street.

As it turned out, he was more than a little wrong about that.

* * *

One afternoon near the end of September, Alfons walked homeward across the green, rather pleasantly tired after a difficult, but rewarding, week. One of his professors had just told him about an opportunity to work with a real-world rocketry team over the summer, saying he would recommend Al for one of the positions. He was daydreaming as he walked, enjoying the deep blue of the sky and the promise of cold just beginning to touch the air, thinking of stopping for coffee and imagining what sort of projects he might work on. 

He became dimly aware of a commotion behind him, of someone calling a name.

Calling _his_ name.

He spun in time to see Edward Elric running towards him as if his life depended on reaching him.

All he could do was stand there, feeling his whole body go hot and cold. Edward drew even with him, breathless, and stared into his face with an intensity that seemed to make the very air around them crackle.

It faded almost instantly, and Edward took a step back.

"I'm sorry," he said. He spoke German with a faint English accent. "I thought you were someone else."

As he began to walk away Al was frozen again, this time by dismay. _No_, he thought. _It's not fair. It has to be me you're looking for._ "Wait! My name _is_ Alfons."

Edward stopped for a long moment. Al bit his lip, afraid he'd overstepped some boundary he hadn't even known was there. But Edward turned back to him, that lovely face blank and unreadable now.

"I know who you are," Al said. "I've seen you in the library." He had to smile at the ridiculousness of the understatement. "But you didn't see me."

"No. I do get kinda buried in my work."

"You must be studying physics and engineering too."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"You've, er, taken all the books."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right." Al had long since gotten over his annoyance.

Edward began to say something, but hesitated. "And sorry about the mistaken identity," he said at last. "I guess I'll see you around." He started to go, but looked back once more. "If I'm not there and you need any of those books, just take them, OK?"

"I will," Alfons said. "Thank you."

He whistled all the way home.

* * *

The term was well underway and Al's work had piled up. He couldn't spare the time to sit down and eat properly, so he stopped to get a snack. Food was strictly _verboten_ in the library, of course, but one could get away with it with a little care. On impulse he bought two squares of kuchen.

Sure enough, Edward was stationed in his usual spot. Alfons looked around to make sure the matron was nowhere in sight, and went over to Edward's table.

"Here," he said, slipping the bag with the pastry out of his pocket and onto the table. "Don't let Frau Blucher catch you."

Edward looked up at him with a strange, wistful smile. "Thanks."

Alfons retreated to his own seat and got to work on some problem sets. Every once in a while, he'd glance over as Ed looked up, and they'd exchange smiles before delving back into studying.

After that, Alfons would always sneak in enough food for two. He feared the food he brought Edward was almost all he ate. He was so thin.

Everyone was feeling the stress. Exams suddenly seemed much closer than they had just a fortnight ago. As Alfons made some notes in the library one afternoon, a first-year sitting near him gave a strangled cry, pushed over his chair, and ran out.

Al looked over at Edward, and they both burst out laughing.

"Silence in the library!" the matron shouted from the doorway. Alfons smothered a giggle.

"Hey," he said when she had gone. "Let's take a break before we go mad too."

Edward pushed his chair back and surveyed his table, where the stacks of books and paper had reached comical heights. "That's probably not a bad idea."

"It's Oktoberfest," Al said, and managed not to even smile at Ed's thoroughly puzzled expression. "A great Bavarian tradition," he explained. "You can't live here and not go at least once!"

* * *

Times were hard since the war, with inflation increasing and a sense of resentment hanging over the city like a storm about to break. There were pockets of wild vitality, though, people determined to wring all they could out of life, an explosion of creativity. 

Tonight that spirit seemed to have overtaken everyone. The streets around _d' Wiesn_ were thronged with revellers, laughing, singing out of tune but with great enthusiasm, and of course quaffing beer.

Alfons watched Edward take it all in, pleased by the happiness that lit his face—maybe the first real smile Al had seen from him, and certainly the first not darkened by whatever shadow sometimes crept over him.

"What should we do first?" Ed asked.

"Beer first," Al said. He slipped his arm through Edward's so as not to lose him in the crowd, and started to squeeze through the press towards the Schottenhamel.

They made it to the tent and got huge mugs of the special Oktoberfest brew. Al showed Edward how to do the traditional toast, and after a few tries they'd gotten almost as much beer on the table as they'd actually swallowed.

"OK, now what?" Edward said, clunking down his empty mug. His cheeks had gone a bit pink.

"Oh! The Ferris wheel! You'll love it, it's like flying."

They rode that and the carousel. When he was little, Alfons had slipped into the Oktoberfest grounds several times to watch the rides being set up, and he told Ed everything he remembered about them. He had always loved the intricate motors, the structures that looked so fragile in construction but were so strong in reality.

Of course all this exertion and conversation called for more beer.

"You should try the roast ox tails," Al said after they visited the Augustiner tent. "It's part of the whole experience." They walked over to the food stalls, both a little unsteady on their feet now, though Ed was doing a good job of hiding it.

"This is _terrible_," he said after the first bite. "Really, really awful."

"Oh? The English are better cooks?"

"Back home, we have the best soup you'll ever taste. And huge bowls of rice and vegetables and beef, and... I've got to get some real food."

"Well, if you're sure you've had enough of the authentic Munich experience..."

"_Real food, now_," Edward said, taking Al's arm and pulling him away from the stalls.

* * *

"I have never seen _anyone_ eat so much spaetzle," Alfons said, staring in disbelief at the plate in front of Edward. He still felt tipsy, and it made him bold and silly. "That was... disturbing." 

"It was delicious," Edward said.

"It's getting late." Al pulled out enough money to cover the whole bill and tucked it under his own plate. "Are you ready to go?"

"You don't have to do that."

"I dragged you out here tonight. It's the least I can do."

"Oh, all right." Ed got his coat and followed Alfons out of the restaurant. "I'm glad you dragged me out here."

"So am I."

They walked along in comfortable silence for a little while, the sounds of the festival receding to a murmur behind them.

The first drop of rain hit Alfons squarely on the nose. Within seconds it was pouring.

"Where do you live?" he shouted over the pounding of the deluge, casting about for a place to take shelter but seeing none.

"I... Near campus!"

"That's too far—come with me!" He pulled his jacket up to cover his head and ran, listening to make sure Ed stayed with him, dodging people with umbrellas, taking a zigzagging shortcut to his apartment.

They tumbled through the door together, soaked through but giddy from the dash.

Alfons lit the lamp. "Oh no, your hair," he said, breaking into laughter again when he saw Edward in the light. It had come unbound along the way and was a tangled mess now, dripping onto the carpet.

"Aw, crap." Edward said, seeing his reflection in the hall mirror.

"I'll get a towel."

He got several, and some clothes for Ed to borrow, and pointed him towards the washroom, then went into his own room to dry off and change. Once done, he stuck his head out into the hallway.

"How are you doing in there?" he called.

There was a long silence.

"Edward?"

"Could you help?" Ed's voice sounded very far away. "This damn thing... the rain must've..." He trailed off as Alfons opened the door.

His hair was still down, no more than damp now, and he'd changed into the dry trousers, but had only gotten the shirt halfway on. For the first time Alfons saw that his right arm was artificial: complicated-looking, finely-tooled steel. The shirt and coat and a sort of long glove lay in a heap on the floor.

"What—" Al said, and couldn't think of anything more. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

Ed looked at him quizzically, but then his eyes went wide. "_Oh_," he said. "Oh, hell, I keep forgetting you don't know. This too." He lifted his left foot to show Al it was prosthetic as well.

"Er... The shirt?" Al said, feeling stupid.

"Yeah. This thing won't turn the right way." He moved the metal arm slightly, and it made a soft mechanical whine of protest.

Al helped him manoeuvre into the shirt and buttoned it for him, trying hard not to blush and even harder to keep his fingers from trembling. "There."

"Are you all right?" Edward asked, with an edge to his voice Alfons had never heard before, and a calm so bland it was surely faked.

"Yes. It doesn't bother me." More than ever Al wanted to embrace him, or do _something_ to chase away the nervousness he was hiding so well. "I'd like to hear how it works, some time."

Ed grinned, suddenly himself again. "That's just like you, Alfons. Nothing'll ever scare you, as long as you can figure out the science behind it." He tried again to bend the metal fingers, watching their arrested motion thoughtfully. "Sometimes I really miss my mechanic. But these are sure better than nothing."

"Can you fix it?"

"I don't think so. Not in this— I mean, not with the tools I have. I've got a spare in the library."

"You live there, don't you?" Al had suspected as much for a little while, but hadn't been sure until now.

"Well... kind of."

"For how long?"

"A couple of months. Since my old man took off. It's OK. I have a key to one of the dormitories."

"Your old man... your father?" Al decided that was a question for another time. "You could stay with me. I wish you would. I worry about you."

That strange, sad smile again. "I've been through worse."

The lump in Al's throat was almost pain now. He coughed to try to clear it. "This... we need coffee."

* * *

With a fire warming the small living room, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, and the rain hammering on the roof, making it all feel cosy, Al started to feel the ache ease enough that he could breathe again. He could sense that something had shifted between them. He wished there were a secret he could tell Edward in exchange for his. 

Ed took a big sip of his coffee and stretched his legs out in front of him, still barefoot. Al watched the fire, determined not to stare.

"You can look. I don't mind," Edward said, and held out his right hand.

Al gingerly lifted it. "It really is amazing. So light!" Even though the machinery was broken, he could tell it would move almost like flesh and bone—after all, he hadn't noticed a difference all these weeks. "I think I could fix it. I think it just short-circuited."

"I used to have better, back home. Though it did hurt like _hell_ to attach."

"This doesn't... does it?" Alfons asked, letting go in alarm.

"Oh, no. It's fine. The other actually connected to the nerves in my shoulder. I didn't understand exactly how it worked, but it was practically indestructible."

"How is that possible?" It sounded like such advanced science.

"That mechanic I mentioned? She was the best."

_She?_ Al wanted to ask, but Edward had gotten that wistful look again. "Is there a special project you're working on?" he asked instead, thinking of dozens of books on the library table, of circles obsessively traced in margins, of everything, really, about Edward that spoke of a consuming quest.

"I'm researching space flight," he said, unslouching. "If we can reach the stars, who knows what we'll find? Maybe a whole other world."

Alfons had to smile at this unexpected display of whimsy. "So you'll go to the stars, all by yourself?" he teased.

"And past 'em."

"And you can send a message back, to tell me what you find there."

Ed poked him with his good hand. "How will I send a message from beyond the stars?"

"I don't know. In a bottle? A... space bottle. It's not that funny!" He shot a mock glare at Edward, who had snorted with laughter. "Maybe I'll find out this summer, and send _you_ a message," Al said.

"Really?"

"Yes. Have you heard about Dr. Oberth's project?"

"Hey! I'm going to work on that too."

"Oh! That's great! We'll be— I mean, I'll already know someone."

"You'd be friends with everyone within a week even if you didn't," Edward said.

"No. I'm really kind of shy." _Just not with you_, he added silently.

"I don't believe it," Edward said. He settled into the cushions, leaning his head against the padded back of the sofa.

Al checked the clock on the mantel and saw to his surprise that it was past two in the morning.

"I'm not really from England, you know," Edward said after a little while, his voice slow and sleepy. "Not your England, anyway."

He hadn't opened his eyes.

"What do you mean, not my England?"

"Not _yours_. Everyone's. This world's."

"So where are you from?" It came out as a whisper.

But Edward was asleep.

Alfons fetched a blanket from upstairs and draped it over him; turned the lamp down to a vague glow; stood watching him for a moment, though so tired himself that his vision was starting to blur. _Are you a dreamer with a great imagination, or are you a bit mad? Or are you neither?_ Very carefully he reached down and brushed back the hair that had fallen over Ed's face. _No matter, I've never known anyone so remarkable. I wish I could tell you._

When he went back downstairs in the morning, Edward had already gone.

* * *

Exams came and went in a blur, and Al didn't think Edward was doing any less studying. If anything, he'd dived into reading and note-taking with a renewed fervour. The stacks on his table had grown to include books about mysticism and chemistry.

Al was done with all his classes, but on the last day before the holiday officially started, he made two sandwiches and headed for the library.

When he got there, the doors were locked. He walked around the building, trying to see in the windows. The whole place looked dark and deserted.

"Damn it!" He kicked at a rock and only succeeded in stubbing his toe.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, trying to tell himself he wasn't searching. The cold he'd caught a few weeks ago was getting worse again, and he knew this wasn't helping. Still, he had a warm house he could go back to any time. He hated to think of Ed all alone out here. But finally he had to give it up, and started back home.

Edward was sitting on the front steps with his nose in a book and a suitcase at his feet. He waved as Alfons got closer. "I was starting to think you'd gone out of town!"

* * *

Living with Ed proved both easier and more difficult than Alfons had expected. 

They talked about everything—excitedly making plans for the summer, discussing the crazy theories in those spiritualism books Ed was still carting around, debating whether it was possible to exceed the speed of sound—following each other's leaps of logic in a way Al had never shared with anyone else. He hadn't been lying when he said he was shy.

Ed told the wildest stories: mining towns and beautiful bandits, magical battles and military conspiracies... things that couldn't possibly have happened, and yet they had a ring of truth Alfons had heard before. _I'm not really from England, you know._

Al just listened, torn between admiration at Edward's imagination, if he really had just imagined everything, and concern at how crazy it all sounded. Eventually he decided that whatever Ed had been through... and he had never been able to ask... it had been horrific enough that the stories were his escape.

Certainly something still haunted him.

At night he muttered or cried out in his sleep, Alfons's name and others. Al lay wide awake in his own bed down the hall, wanting desperately to go to him, but held by the memory of their first meeting. _I thought you were someone else._ But if the nightmares preyed on him during the day, he gave no sign.

Alfons, too, tried to keep his dreams from intruding on real life.

* * *

There was a hidden club in Munich, dark and smoky, where young men like him went for the deep, shadowed booths and the little private rooms in back. Al had gone there a few times. He could always find someone to spend the evening with, but though the faces seemed never to be the same twice, they had a uniformity about them. 

When he began to doze off at night, his secret thoughts weren't of those anonymous boys.

_They're talking late into the night. It doesn't matter about what. Ed yawns, laughs sleepily; tucks his legs up under him and rests his head on Al's shoulder._

_Al knows, as he never does in real life, that it's all right, and he reaches over and tugs free the cord that holds back Edward's hair, draws his fingers through the silky pale strands. Ed sighs and sort of nestles closer._

I love you_, Alfons thinks, but even in a dream, he can't seem to say it._

_He shifts a little to look down at Edward. It seems the easiest thing in the world to brush a kiss across his cheek._

_Edward's eyes fly open, dark gold and very wide—of course he's surprised for a moment—but he doesn't pull away. He slips his arms around Alfons and kisses him._

_Alfons has never kissed anyone on the mouth, but he wouldn't change that. He wants this to be the first time._

_Tentative at first, they learn the way of it together, Alfons turning to pull Ed closer, fingers tangling in his hair._

_He knows it can't last forever, not even in a dream, but he tries to hold on to the feeling as long as he can—the triumphant pounding of his own heart, skin-warmed metal against the back of his neck, nervousness flaring into heat as Ed's mouth opens beneath his._

_After a long moment Alfons eases away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Edward's and smiling and smiling. He knows that someday soon he'll be able to say everything he wishes to._

It would never happen, but Al had resigned himself to that—to weighing hopeless dreams against the easy affection that seemed to speak of a familiarity beyond the short time they'd known each other; words he couldn't say even dreaming against evenings of laughter and wild theories. To knowing that he reached out in his sleep and woke reaching still, while Edward dreamed of another world.

None of that mattered. Alfons had made his choice.


End file.
